The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“What the hell?”

My father crossed the room, anger pouring off his body. “Where have you been?”

“Here.” I managed a yawn and scratched my head, hoping to look sleepy and that he couldn’t hear my accelerated heartbeat. “What’s going on?”

He leaned down, his breath laced with scotch. “I heard you didn’t make captain of the soccer team. I told you to make it happen.”

“I told you I’m not good enough.” The truth was I hated playing soccer and only did it to pacify him. I was glad to be passed up.

He narrowed his eyes. “If I tell you to do something, you make it happen.”

“I tried. Jason is a better player. A better leader. I can’t compete with his ability.” I pointed out. “It was the coach’s decision. Not mine.”

“I’m taking your car away for a month. You can fucking walk. In fact, you had better run. I want ten pounds off you. And you’re grounded for the next two weeks.”

I bit back my retort. My car, I could live without. The grounding was harder to handle, although given his schedule, I could slip out at times if I wanted. It was better than being punished by his fists.

“You’ll be captain next year, or there will be consequences.”

I knew better than to argue with him. I had gotten off lightly this time.

But I should have known better. My father straightened and I relaxed. Then he punched me in the stomach so hard, I began heaving immediately. I hadn’t even seen it coming. The milk shake I had drunk at the diner came up, spewing white all over my bed.

He eyed me with disdain. “Clean it up. Leave your car keys on my desk in the morning.” He paused at the door. “And your little slut of a waitress was hanging all over some asswipe in the diner. Didn’t take her long to set her sights on someone else.” His tone was mocking. “Not that you’re much of a catch either. Without my money, you’re nothing.”

Then he walked out.

I kept my arm around my stomach as I got up, knowing that if Michael hadn’t warned me and my father had found me in the diner, I would have been in far worse pain. I hated the thought that Sunny obviously played up Michael being there, but I knew she had done it to take the heat off of me.

I wasn’t sure why Michael had stepped in and helped, but I had never forgotten his empathy.

I grasped his hand, returning his grip. “How are you?”

“Good, Linc. I’m good. What are you doing in town?” His gaze moved to Sunny then back to me. “Or should I leave that well enough alone?”

Sunny’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. I had to chuckle at his words. “Came to settle the last of my father’s estate. I had planned on being here one day, but things, ah, changed.”

He grinned. “Is that a fact? Well, Sunny, I think I need a coffee and a muffin. Linc and I have some catching up to do.”

She scooped up the pile of linens from the counter. “What about you Linc? Are you coffeed out?”

I smirked at her—she had no idea. “Nope. Coffee and a couple more biscuits, please.”

Michael and I moved to my table, and I shut off my laptop, slipping it into my bag. Sunny slid a tray onto the table containing a pot of coffee and two plates holding muffins and biscuits. I caught her hand. “Thank you.”

She smiled and bent down, brushing a kiss to my forehead, then headed back to the kitchen. Her tender gesture did something to my chest. I hadn’t been touched with gentleness since the day I was forced to leave her. I squeezed her hand in silent appreciation. She shut the door this time, leaving Michael and me alone in the shop.

“Should I extend condolences about your father?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. The only thing I felt when he died was relief.”

He nodded, sipping his coffee. “Nasty son of a bitch, he was. The things he did to this town were bad enough, but the way he took his anger out on you was unacceptable.”

I rested my elbows on the table. “How did you know, Michael? I never spoke about it. I thought I hid it well. You were kind to me, even though we weren’t really friends. Close ones anyway.”

He took a muffin off the plate, unpeeling the wrapper and breaking it in half. He took a large bite, chewing it slowly. “We weren’t close, no, but I understood why. I understood you.”

“Sorry?”

He finished the first half of his muffin and wiped his fingers. “My god, that woman can bake.”

I had to agree. I took a biscuit, already buttered with a thick layer of jam on top, and bit into it. I would always think of Sunny when I ate one of these.